


go your own way

by peppersnot



Series: can't fall in slow motion [2]
Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Getting Back Together, M/M, Some fluff but not very much, sarumifest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-26 19:15:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19774669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peppersnot/pseuds/peppersnot
Summary: how much time do you need? i can only wait so long.





	go your own way

**Author's Note:**

> so i'll be real honest, the saruhiko version is just so close to my heart i wanted to write misaki's pov too so here i am, 3 years later with The Other Side of the breakup fic that hurts and heals me at the same time. also this is for sarumifest's theme: reconcile :") perfect timing too LOL
> 
> i'd say you should probably read the other version first, but I _guess_ it's also okay to read as a standalone. 
> 
> i'm super rusty with k project and sarumi, so i hope i got the characterization right. comments/kudos are hella appreciated!!

It’s a cold December morning, the day Misaki wakes up and thinks he can’t do this anymore.

He opens his eyes to the sun peeking out over the horizon, and listens quietly to Saruhiko’s steady breathing next to him. Only last night, Saruhiko had mentioned something about taking the day off. Misaki looks towards his left, thinks about spending the day at home, with Saruhiko, and he feels _bad_ , feels _awful_ even just _thinking_ about what he’s been considering for so long.

But he can’t do this anymore.

He wants to cry.

Pulling the covers over his head so they’re covering both of them, he shifts close enough to press a kiss to Saruhiko’s parted lips – gently, so he doesn’t wake up.

“Hey, Saru,” he murmurs into the warmth between them. “I’m sorry.”

Saruhiko doesn’t move. Of course he wouldn’t, he is asleep.

Misaki sits up carefully, making sure he doesn’t move too much, because Saruhiko is a terribly light sleeper, and pushes himself off the bed. He tiptoes around the room, collecting his things and stuffs them into a backpack he’d bought for himself a few months ago.

He’d never thought he’d be using it for something like this.

He is at the door when he thinks simply running away might be too much. He doesn’t want to have to say it, doesn’t want to meet Saruhiko eyes as he tells him he’s leaving him (again, Saruhiko would think) but he’s not a coward. At the very least, he owes an explanation.

He sits himself on the living room couch. Doubt is settling in, like it always does, because Misaki has always been spectacular at doubting himself, and he wonders if he’s making the right decision. He looks at the bag next to his feet, thinks about going back to the bedroom, putting everything back in its place and slipping back into bed next to Saruhiko, tell him he’s sorry he ever considered it even though there would be no one to listen.

He can’t bring himself to move.

Saruhiko comes out of the room a few hours later, and Misaki realizes only then how long he’s been sitting here.

“Hey Saru,” he says, before Saruhiko can say anything. He hesitates, thinks about making some excuse. He’s going to visit his family. He’s going to a convention.

He’s not going anywhere.

Misaki stands, picks the bag off the ground. He can’t look at Saruhiko right now. He doesn’t want to see the expression on his face when Misaki says the words. He can’t. He looks at the front door instead.

“I think we should break up.”

Saruhiko doesn’t say a word; stands there, watching. Misaki doesn’t look at him but he knows the expression—the confusion, the _hurt_ , he’s seen it all before.

 _It’s always me who does it_ , he thinks, and suddenly, he wants to cry.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, and pushes himself past, taking deliberate care that he doesn’t step too close. Who knows what he’d end up doing?

He wants to drop his things, step forward, let Saruhiko wrap his arms around him so Misaki can pretend it was all one big joke.

It’s not.

The door slams behind him, and he slides down against it, hugging his knees to his chest and lets the tears fall.

* * *

_“Misaki. Misaki, wake up. Why are you sleeping here?”_

_Misaki stirred, grumbling as a pair of hands grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him gently until he blinked his eyes open, looking around in confusion. Saruhiko smirked down at him. He was still wearing his ugly Blues’ uniform – the one Misaki hated so much, even though he’d begrudgingly come to terms with it. Misaki looked at it in distaste._

_“It’s late, go to the bedroom,” Saruhiko said, running his fingers through Misaki’s hair, pushing it out of his face. “I’m just going to wash up.”_

_“What took you so long?” Misaki asked groggily, pushing himself up to his feet and wincing at the crick in his neck. “I waited for you.”_

_There was a funny look in Saruhiko’s eyes as he stood there, blinking down at Misaki as if he hadn’t expected anyone to ever wait for him._

Stupid _, Misaki thought to himself._ I’d always wait for you.

_“Was working,” Saruhiko said, and leaned forward to press a kiss to Misaki’s forehead. “Go sleep, I’ll be there in a bit.”_

_“I love you, you know?”_

_The words weren’t necessary, Misaki knew that. But that look, like Saruhiko had never felt like he’d ever been needed, never felt like he’d be important enough for anyone to care. Misaki couldn’t stand it._

_Saruhiko paused for a moment._

_“I know,” he said, and then he was pushing Misaki towards the bedroom. “Go to sleep already, idiot.”_

_The bed was cold. Colder than the living room had been, colder still with only him in it._

_He couldn’t sleep. The words had been unnecessary, but maybe they hadn’t. Maybe they’d just been an excuse._

Isn’t he going to say it back? _Came the unwelcome thought, and Misaki lay there deep into the night in Saruhiko’s arms, listening to the steady thudding of his heart and wondered if he had any place in it._

* * *

Kusanagi-san doesn’t ask questions when Misaki shows up at the bar with a backpack and tear-stained cheeks, and Misaki is thankful for that. There isn’t anyone in the bar yet. Anna is probably still sleeping, and Kusanagi-san gestures him over, slides him a drink across the counter and tells him it’s okay, these things happen.

How does he know, Misaki wonders, but suddenly he feels choked up again. He swallows the drink he’s been offered in one go, and chokes from how fast he does it. The coughing fit is expected – the tears are not.

He leans his head against the counter, holding back on the tears because he doesn’t want to cry in front of Kusanagi-san, his bag dumped on the floor next to his feet.

“I didn’t want to,” he manages to say. “I _really, really_ didn’t want to.”

Kusanagi-san smiles at him. Gentle, like he’s always been, and Misaki is hit with the sudden reminder that nobody knows what it’s like to lose someone important better than Kusanagi-san. The tears won’t stop, even if they are soundless.

“It’s okay,” Kusanagi-san tells him. “Yata-chan won’t make any brash decisions when it comes to people important to him.”

It’s comforting, to be believed in, to have someone tell him he’s not wrong, because he’s spent so long believing he is, but he doesn’t believe the words either. If there’s anyone who can make bad decisions and hurt people, it’s him.

If there’s anyone who can create misunderstandings and hurt the people who he cares about the most, it’s him.

He can’t think too hard about the what-ifs for now, though, because suddenly the door slams open and Chitose enters the bar with a loud greeting and Misaki quickly wipes the tears off his face, hoping his eyes aren’t too red and puffy.

Kusanagi-san murmurs something about taking one of the rooms upstairs for the time being, and Misaki nods, grabbing his bag and rushing upstairs. He doesn’t have anywhere else to stay right now. His apartment lease was up ages ago, he’d been living with Saruhiko for a year already.

The rooms are dusty, but he can’t bring himself to care.

His chest feels tight, he’s choked up.

Misaki throw himself onto the bed and lets himself cry.

* * *

_The expression on Saruhiko’s face when he opened the door was priceless._

_“What do you think?” Misaki said, standing next to the masterpiece of a pillow fort he’d spent all day constructing on the bed. He’d had to borrow all the pillows in the empty rooms at Homra, and Kusanagi-san wasn’t at all happy about it, even if he’d given in after Misaki begged him for a full three days. “Isn’t it cool?”_

_“Are you five?” Saruhiko said dryly, giving him a look that said ‘what the fuck’ just as much as it looked amused. “Is this why you told me to take my time?”_

_“Well, yeah,” Misaki shrugged, picking up the plug end of the fairylights and crossing the room towards the outlet. The fort lit up. “What, did you think I was planning a birthday party?”_

_The answer was clearly yes, even though Saruhiko scoffed and rolled his eyes, dumping his coat on the sofa in the room as he headed towards him._

_“Isn’t this already a birthday party?” He said, voice low, and Misaki grinned, letting himself be pushed back against the wall he was standing next to. “Just you and me?”_

_“Well,” Misaki hummed, reaching up to wrap his arms around Saruhiko’s neck, pulling him into a kiss. “It could be, I guess, if you want.”_

He likes it _, he thought._ He likes it, right? He likes what I did for him?

_He’d considered an actual party – a small one, because Saruhiko didn’t like people. He’d even asked Kusanagi-san for that cold-hearted woman’s number, so he could invite Saruhiko’s colleagues, even if Misaki didn’t like them one bit._

_He’d thought Saruhiko would like this more._

_Say it, said a voice in his head, but he didn’t want to have to ask. He wasn’t going to push for words when he knew Saruhiko hated having to say them._

It’s okay. Take your time.

(But don’t forget to tell me some day.)

_Pulling away, Misaki grabbed Saruhiko’s hand, dragging him towards the pillow fort, pushing him inside – carefully, so it wouldn’t fall – and when Saruhiko kissed him again, Misaki saw stars._

* * *

The first time he sees Saruhiko after _that day_ , is a week later. He’s moved into and spends most of his time holed up in the spare room at his mother’s house now, if only because it’s nice to be around familiar people who don’t constantly remind him of all the things he’s lost, but he still goes back to Homra every day, even if just for a little while. His family doesn’t ask questions, even though he’s sure they already know what happened, and he’s grateful for that.

He’s only just leaving the bar to go home when it happens.

The door opens as he reaches for it, and the face he sees is familiar and he _loves_ that face, he loves it _so much_ , he isn’t thinking about it when he smiles wide and says, “Hi!” like nothing ever happened.

Saruhiko freezes there with the door half open, and Misaki blinks, realizing he’s made a mistake, _fucked up_ like he always does, and he’s in too much of a hurry to leave now to bring himself to react to the situation. He grabs the handle to the other door, pushing it open and thankfully it isn’t bolted, and runs out before he can stay and see the expression on Saruhiko’s face.

He feels choked up again. He wants to turn around, go back to the bar and say sorry, say something, but all he’s done is ruin things even more than he already had.

He’s crying even before he reaches home, and his mother holds him in her arms, tells him she’d fight the world for him if she could, and Misaki only cries harder.

* * *

_“What is the point of this if you’re only ever going to wear my clothes, anyway?”_

_Misaki scowled, smacking Saruhiko’s arm as they made their way to the store counter with a bundle of clothes in his arms. They were on sale, and Misaki had never been one to turn down sales. He’d needed new clothes, anyway._

_“I don’t_ always _wear your clothes,” he said, because it was true. Fine, so he usually wore Saruhiko’s clothes at home because they were big and comfy, but he didn’t spend all that much time at home anyway._

_“Yes, you do,” Saruhiko told him. He pulled at the sleeve of the shirt Misaki was wearing. “You literally changed out of my shirt into this because we were coming here. I’m running out of things to wear.”_

_“Then buy new clothes, dumbass.” Misaki laughed, nodding towards the sale aisle. “That’s what we’re here for. Want me to pick something out for you?”_

_“Why would I want you to do that?”_

_“Because,” Misaki leaned forward, shooting a mischievous grin at him. “I’ll be the one wearing them, eventually.”_

_Saruhiko blinked at him before sighing heavily and shaking his head. “You’re ridiculous.”_

_“You love me,” Misaki told him, heading towards the racks with the clothes on sale, ignoring the eyeroll, and making a kissy-face at him and laughing when he scowled._

* * *

Misaki picks up knitting.

He’d known how to knit anyway, because he’d taught himself once on the train when they were heading to Kyoto for the weekend. Saruhiko had laughed at him for it, but he’d worn the scarf Misaki made every day during the winter.

He doesn’t like the memory attached to it, but it keeps him busy, and there’s only so many things he can give up because of Saruhiko. He ate with Saruhiko, slept with Saruhiko, played games with Saruhiko – every aspect of his life is somehow attached to Saruhiko, he can’t just give it all up.

Though really, if he’s being honest, he doesn’t feel like he’s living anymore, so what’s the difference?

He sits on the living room couch while he knits, watching dumb sitcoms on TV or the twins playing with their toys once they’re home from school. The sweater he ends up with a week later looks like it’s too big on him, and it’s too blue for someone who hates the color so much, anyway.

He hides the needles, yarn and the sweater at the back of his closet and decides he’s never going to knit again.

* * *

_“Pathetic,” Was what Saruhiko had to say._

_Misaki frowned, pausing the movie and sitting up so he could look at his face better. “What part of this is pathetic?”_

_“Of course it’s pathetic,” Saruhiko said, gesturing to the screen. “They’re trying so hard to make it look like a big romantic gesture on his part but if he really loves her he’d have been less of an asshole and more honest about things.”_

_Misaki raised an eyebrow, looking at the screen, where the main leads of the movie had been paused mid-kiss after a loud argument about their mutual feelings. He turned back to Saruhiko and hit him with the pillow._

_“What the fuck?”_

_“You, of all people,” Misaki said. “Don’t have the right to say that.”_

_“Why not? It’s the truth.”_

_“Because you’re also an asshole, and because you’re never honest about things, either.” Misaki said._ That is, assuming that you love me.

_Saruhiko snorted._

_“I’m not pretending otherwise, though,” he said. “And it’s not a romantic gesture.”_

Well, what is it then? _Misaki wanted to ask. What are we? If what we have isn’t romance, then what is it?_

I love you _, he wanted to say, despite the inopportune time._ You love me too, right?

_He settled back against the sofa, hoping Saruhiko wouldn’t ask why he didn’t want to cuddle anymore, and took deliberate care to make sure they didn’t touch for the rest of the movie._

* * *

They bump into each other.

It’s not a surprise, at this point, because he knows Kusanagi-san and the coldhearted woman are scheming something. Saruhiko drops by way more than he would do under his own will, and there is always some kind of delivery that could be made by literally anyone besides the Blue’s third-in-command.

Misaki isn’t _stupid_.

He sees Saruhiko often enough – he’s even gotten _used_ to it, even though it makes him want to run away, maybe run forward, press a kiss to that face and whisper apologies that he isn’t sure he means yet.

So, he’s not _surprised_ when the door opens and Saruhiko enters the bar. He’d almost half expected it.

What he _didn’t_ expect is the way Saruhiko looks like he’s just risen from the dead, the heavy bags under his eyes and the fact that he’s skinnier than usual, like he’s barely eating.

 _Who’s cooking for him?_ Misaki wonders, and guilt rushes through him from head to toe and makes him want to head over to the apartment where he’s no longer invited, pretend everything is okay and that the past month or so never happened.

It did happen though.

It happened, and that apartment isn’t his home anymore, no matter how much he wishes he could go back in time to when it was.

He ignores the coldness in Saruhiko’s eyes as he steps forward, and shakily asks, “Are you okay?”

 _It’s none of my business anymore,_ he tells himself, but it _is_. How can it not be? How can he just step back and pretend he’s okay when Saruhiko isn’t?

“Just swell,” Saruhiko says. The coldness in his eyes hits ten times harder when it translates into his voice, and when he forces his way past, their shoulders accidentally brushing, Misaki has to bite his tongue to pretend he’s not affected by it.

He counts to ten in his head, and doesn’t turn to see whatever Saruhiko is doing. It’s none of his business, after all.

He hides in the alley near the bar – the same alley where he watched Saruhiko’s mark and their relationship go up in flames, and tells himself this time it’s his fault.

‘This time’ – hah. It’s always his fault.

* * *

_“Why_.” _It wasn’t a question, or a statement. It was more of an order – a command for him to explain what the fuck he was doing and it sounded so ridiculous coming from someone who had shampoo in his hair and couldn’t open his eyes that Misaki spent a good five minutes laughing before he could actually manage to open the shower door and step inside._

_“Why not,” he said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively as he pushed Saruhiko to the side so he could stand under the spray of the shower. “We can save water this way.”_

_“I’m naked,” Saruhiko said, blandly, but Misaki didn’t miss the way his eyes drifted down before snapping back up to his face. “You’re also naked.”_

_“Yes, that’s how showers usually work,” Misaki told him, and reached out to grab his arm so he could pull him closer. He reached up to wash the shampoo out of Saruhiko’s hair, undoing the tangles with his fingers when he was done while Saruhiko watched._

_“You’re always so horny,” Saruhiko said, and laughed when Misaki sputtered._

_“I’m here to_ shower _,” he said, in a sad attempt at defending himself but Saruhiko had read through his intentions so easily. He’d often called Misaki an open book, someone who wore his heart on his sleeve, and he wasn’t wrong, Misaki thought._

_He wondered if the feelings got across properly._

_Saruhiko kept_ his _heart in a locked box in a closet, the key to which only a few people had. It had been almost a year – about eleven months of dating, and even longer of being friends, but Misaki didn’t know if he was one of those people._

_Would he ever be allowed a peek into the box? Would Saruhiko ever open it up for him willingly, let him see himself there, assuming he had a place there at all?_

Don’t push – _he’d told himself that so often he was starting to wonder if it held any meaning at all._

I won’t push you _, he thought, as Saruhiko’s hands came up to his hair and then he was being pulled into a searing kiss._ But will you pull me?

* * *

The market near the apartment has a vacancy.

He’s been looking for jobs – he can’t intrude on his parents for so long, even though they tell him he’s always welcome there because he’s their _son_ , but he doesn’t feel wanted there at all. It’s almost like an obligation on their part; like they wouldn’t willingly kick him out, but if he were to leave they wouldn’t stop him.

Saruhiko hadn’t stopped him either.

Most places are full, so he thinks it’s a blessing that he even managed to find a job here at all, even though he has to pass by the apartment building every evening while walking to work. He’ll be fine, he tells himself when it happens. It’s just a building.

Why does he feel so _scared?_

He’s on night shift when it happens. He’s at the cash register, helping a young kid no more than eleven or twelve cash a whole bunch of candies, and he catches a glimpse of a familiar person heading down the vegetable aisle.

Misaki thinks he knows that hair, and that shirt looks an awful lot like the one he’d told Saruhiko was ugly as fuck.

 _There’s no way Saruhiko would ever be caught dead in the vegetable aisle,_ he thinks and turns back to the kid, tells him the candies will ruin his teeth and sticks his tongue out when the kid tells him to stop acting like a mom.

He turns his attention back to the customers in line – mostly young girls buying ingredients and chocolates, and that makes sense, because it’s the twelfth of February, and everyone has someone special to express their feelings to.

Misaki feels a pang of bitterness in his chest. He pushes it aside, focuses on each customer, smiles politely at them and manages not to stutter too much around the ladies.

The line moves.

The old lady picks up her bag and tells him goodbye.

Misaki looks up to a familiar face.

 _Oh_ , he thinks, and it spills out of his mouth before he can stop it. _It really was you._

Saruhiko doesn’t say anything, only empties the basket onto the counter and Misaki looks through all the things he’s buying. Milk, bread, eggs. A whole bunch of vegetables. He wants to laugh.

There are people in line, and he’ll only be holding them up if he stands there, so he starts wordlessly running the things through the machine, self conscious under Saruhiko’s gaze. He pauses when he picks up the carrots.

“Are you sure you want this?” He asks, carefully, because he’s not sure if he wants to hear the response – not because of the words but the way they’ll come out. He can imagine it already. It’s worse than the apathy when Saruhiko speaks to strangers. It’s close to the way he sounds when he talks about Mikoto-san – disdain, contempt, pure hatred.

Misaki hates hearing Mikoto-san being talked about like that.

He hates it for himself even more.

“If I didn’t,” Saruhiko says, and the words are just as harsh and steely as Misaki had feared they would be. “I wouldn’t put it in the basket, would I?”

Misaki laughs. What else is he to do?

Why is he questioning a customer, anyway?

That’s all Saruhiko is anymore. Except he’s _not_.

“Right,” he says. “Of course, you wouldn’t.”

He takes out one of the store’s printed paper bags and puts the groceries in it one by one. For some reason, his hands are moving much slower than they normally would, and he doesn’t want to think about why that is.

_Just a little longer. Just stay here a little bit longer._

He doesn’t dare look up.

“One of those too.” Saruhiko’s voice cuts through his thoughts and he raises his eyes and follows the finger pointing at the display behind him – at the chocolate boxes arranged on the shelves in reds and pinks. “The red one.”

Misaki pauses. He blinks at the shelf, and then at Saruhiko. “Those are for Valentine’s, you know? You don’t need those.”

“Don’t I?”

“W-well.” He isn’t sure how to respond. The answer is no, of course not. Who would Saruhiko want to give it to? Maybe it’s a prank, he thinks. Maybe the Blue King is up to his nonsense, as always, if Saruhiko’s stories about him are anything to go by, and Saruhiko is just fulfilling one of his duties.

_Why would he need a chocolate box?_

“Those are for like,” he takes a deep breath. _“_ Special people. You know?”

“I’m not stupid, Misaki,” Saruhiko sneers at him. “I know what they’re for, and I need them.”

There is a long pause; silence for a moment that feels like centuries. At the back of his head he is vaguely aware of the queue that is waiting for him to finish up with this transaction but he can’t bring himself to care. There is so much going through his mind, he feels like he’s going to burst. Flashbacks to every time Saruhiko was late, all the insults that he’d once thought were jokes, a flame on the tips of fingers that reached up to destroy a bond he’d once thought was eternal.

 _He wouldn’t_ , he tells himself. _He wouldn’t do that._

But then what else could it be? He knows Saruhiko – he might even be the only one who does – and Saruhiko takes so long to open up to people, it’s only been two months.

Every single one of the Blue’s faces jump to the front of his mind and suddenly Misaki feels sick.

“Do you…do you have someone?” He manages, and it comes out choked. “Someone that important to you?

Did you have someone already? Is that why you didn’t stop me? Did I ever mean anything to you?

_Is that why you never said it?_

Saruhiko hesitates for a moment, like he’s not sure if he wants to answer. Misaki isn’t sure he wants to hear, either.

“I do.”

He bites his tongue. His eyes sting. He feels choked up. But he is on duty, and there is a line – he catches sight of a middle aged woman check the watch on her wrist, and suddenly his feet find it in them to move towards the display, his hands manage to bring down a red, heart-shaped box, and he scans it silently, puts it in the bag without a word.

Saruhiko leaves, and Misaki does not look at him as he does.

“Are you okay?!” says the lady as she puts her things on the counter and catches sight of the tears that have managed to break free and are now running down his face. Misaki wipes at them on the back of his sleeve, forces a smile that ends at his lips and continues working.

* * *

_There was nothing to do but to laugh at the mess in the kitchen when he stepped inside, still groggy from sleep but the amusement all died immediately when the pan caught on fire and Saruhiko stepped back, cursing loudly as Misaki rushed forward to grab the pan and toss it into the sink._

_“You fucking_ idiot _,” Misaki said, waving the smoke out of his now stinging eyes. “Haven’t I told you to stay out of the kitchen?!”_

_“I was trying to make breakfast,” Saruhiko muttered, looking away and Misaki was reminded of the twins when they were caught watching TV instead of doing their homework. “You were sleeping.”_

_“You could have woken me up instead of trying to burn the building down.” Misaki shook his head and once the smoke cleared, peered into the sink to see what it was that Saruhiko had been trying to cook. He couldn’t really tell – his brand new frying pan was now ruined, but he would yell about that later. The black_ thing _in the center was much more interesting right now._

_There were egg shells in the dustbin._

_“Are those_ eggs _?” He said incredulously, and Saruhiko huffed. Misaki sat down at the kitchen table and laughed heartily while Saruhiko stood at the side looking grumpy and scowling. “You are literally the only person who could do_ that _to_ eggs _.”_

_“Shut up,” Saruhiko said. “It’s not like I’ve ever fried eggs before.”_

_“Well, it’s about fuckin’ time you learnt, jackass, you’re in your mid-twenties. Even Megumi and Minoru know how to fry eggs.”_

_“Well, I’m not Megumi or Minoru.”_

_“I’ll teach you how to cook,” Misaki said. “At least eggs.”_

_“No thanks,” Saruhiko scoffed, and headed towards the door. “I’ve had enough cooking for one day.”_

_“But if you don’t learn how will you ever make me breakfast in bed?” Misaki stood up, following Saruhiko out to the living room. “You should do that for your boyfriend, I’ve done it for you so many times.”_

_“At your own will,” Saruhiko told him, rolling his eyes. “I never asked you to.”_

Do all nice gestures need to be asked for, _Misaki wondered. It was a stupid thought, because this was Saruhiko, and he was always a jerk – always being rude and pretending he didn’t care when he really did deep down._

_Misaki found he wasn’t so sure of that anymore._

_Seven months in and he had no idea whether Saruhiko really cared or not. At least he’d never heard him say it._

_“So what,” he said out loud, and grabbed at Saruhiko’s arm, pulling him back into the kitchen. “You are going to fry an egg, and then you will kiss me.”_

_Saruhiko snorted, and when Misaki threw an apron at him, he put it on. Misaki didn’t know how much of that was coercion and how much of it was true willingness._

Why am I making such a big deal out of this, _he thought to himself, and no matter how much he tried to force the thought away after that, it had made a permanent home in his mind._

* * *

Saturdays are his day off, though he forgets this detail as he hurries to the bathroom to wash up. He’s in the middle of brushing his teeth when he remembers he is not expected at work today. It is seven in the morning.

Once he wakes up, it’s hard for him to go back to sleep, and today is no exception, so Misaki lies in bed and stares at the ceiling of his rented motel room and wills himself not to think about Saruhiko’s bag of groceries with the chocolate box in it.

 _Ridiculous_ , he thinks. There’s no one. There is absolutely no one.

There _can’t_ be.

Can there?

His feet move on his own. He doesn’t even bother with shoes or sandals, just steps into the slippers lying near the door, grabs his jacket and rushes out without any concern about the fact that his hair is a mess and he is still in the T-shirt and shorts he wears to bed. The roads are relatively quiet, because it’s early on a Saturday morning, and he runs to the apartment building he knows so well, doesn’t bother waiting for the elevator and rushes up the stairs to the sixth floor.

The door – it looks _exactly_ like it did back then.

Of course it does. Why would it change? It’s just a door.

Misaki stares at it, at the number engraved onto it, the doorbell on the side. Is he allowed to ring it? Is anyone home? Are there _two_ people home? Is the chocolate box opened and stuffed into the freezer already?

 _Has he said it to you yet,_ Misaki thinks, and then his fingers reach up to press the doorbell, again and again and again.

This feeling is _anger_ , he realizes, as he presses it repeatedly. Anger and bitterness and resentment, aimed entirely at Saruhiko for never being honest with him, never telling him what he needed to hear. For not grabbing his hand and pulling him back when he’d stepped out of the apartment all those days ago.

 _If I can’t be happy,_ he thinks. _Neither can you_.

It’s a terrible thing to feel, and his finger hovers over the button as he realizes it, immediately feels sorry for it, thinks about how he’s so fucking selfish for even letting the words enter his head.

_It’s my fault. I know that._

But—

The door opens and Misaki doesn’t waste a second and blurts out the words that have been plaguing him for so long as soon as he sees Saruhiko’s face. “Who is it?”

Saruhiko pauses. “What?”

“You bought a chocolate box, right? Who is it?”

_Tell me. Tell me right now. I’ll take them away from you, it can only be me—_

Except…it can’t. He has no right to think that.

“What does that have to do with you?”

Misaki blinks, takes a deep breath. He looks down at his feet and notices he’s only wearing slippers. “It doesn’t. I was just curious.”

“It’s none of your business,” Saruhiko says and he’s right. Fuck, he’s _right_.

“There really isn’t anyone, is there?” Misaki says. His voice is frantic now. He’s just digging his own grave, is only making the hole deeper so it can hurt more when he can eventually no longer see the top, so that even if someone reaches in to pull him out he won’t be able to grab on.

“What makes you think that?”

“I know you,” he says, before Saruhiko has even finished his sentence. The words are bubbling out of him without any control. “I know there isn’t anyone. You don’t let people close to you so easily.”

_Tell me, say it, there’s no one, there’s nobody—_

“Maybe you’re not the only one I let myself get close to.” Saruhiko’s voice is steel, and it _cuts_. “You don’t monitor all my relationships.”

“You hate everyone.” It’s a last resort – one more attempt at trying to get answers, and Misaki realizes he hasn’t gotten any actual answers to begin with. “I _know_ you—”

“Maybe you were wrong about that.” _Oh._ “I was wrong too. I thought I knew you.”

The door closes in his face. Misaki stares at it for the longest time. His eyes follow the paper thin crack running through the middle where the neighbour’s kid had thrown a ball. There are no tears this time, but he looks at the staircase – the steps leading upwards, where the roof has a small boundary and the twenty floors would make sure if he were to step off the edge he wouldn’t survive.

He makes his way downstairs and goes home.

* * *

_“You think I could like, go into modeling?” Misaki said, and Saruhiko actually looked away from the screen of his laptop to make a face at him. Misaki counted that as a win, since Saruhiko would normally just shoot some snarky comment back without ever stopping his typing._

_“Sure,” he said, and reached over to pat Misaki’s head. “You could be the next Miss Universe.”_

_“Asshole,” Misaki aimed a kick under the covers that he missed, because Saruhiko moved his legs out of the way. “I meant like in sports magazines and stuff.”_

_“Do whatever you want.” Saruhiko turned back to the screen, eyes scanning over his documents for a bit before he started typing again._

_“I’m hot, they’d take me.”_

_“Sure.”_

_“They’d make me do nude shoots.”_

_“Sure.”_

_“Then I’ll get asked out by a ton of people who find me cute and I’ll find myself someone better than you who actually pays attention to me and you can rot on your own.”_

_“Sure.”_

_Misaki scowled. Not a hint of jealousy there, huh? Not like there had to be. They both knew he was joking. He wasn’t going to find anyone else. He wasn’t even going to model for anyone._

_Still._

_Some reaction would be nice._

_When did he become so desperate for attention?_

How much time do you need? I’m running out of patience.

_“You act all nonchalant now, but you’ll miss me when I’m gone,” Misaki said, and turned over to his other side, burying his face into the pillow and telling himself this wasn’t something to cry about._

_Seconds passed – minutes, an hour._

_The clock ticked._

_Saruhiko kept typing._

_Misaki kept waiting._

* * *

His skateboard is still there. He realizes this belatedly when Kusanagi-san asks about it, and Misaki thinks back to the morning he’d left, with one backpack that fit only a few things into it, and wonders how he’s ever going to go back to that apartment again.

He has no right to. Not anymore.

It happens against his will, like all things do when they involve Saruhiko. It is Monday, and he has taken the day off because he doesn’t think he’ll be able to spend an entire day around people, putting up fake smiles and pretending he is okay. He’s not okay. Very much so.

He rings the bell normally this time. There is no anger or bitterness or hurt. No desperation, no want, nothing. He feels nothing. He’s an empty shell.

 _I won’t say a word more than necessary,_ he had told himself this morning as he stepped out of his motel room. _Not a fucking word._

He plans to stick to that. There’s nothing he has to say now, anyway.

When the door opens, Misaki makes it a point to keep his eyes on the floor. He doesn’t want to see Saruhiko’s face. He won’t get anything but pain from it, so he should just avoid it altogether.

“I forgot some of my things,” he says, monotonously. Some part of him worries he might cry again. The other part says there aren’t any tears left.

“I know,” Saruhiko tells him, and then holds the door open. “They’re in a box in the living room.”

Misaki processes that – preparation for the end. _They’re in a box in the living room._

Just another way to say ‘I’ve kicked you out already, all you have to do is leave’. Once he takes his things, it’s over.

He nods and steps inside. It’s the same. Exactly the same. The walls are the same, the curtains are the same, even the kitchen is the same, with the blackened walls where Saruhiko had accidentally caused a fire. He remembers being kissed against that counter, reaching over to feed Saruhiko vegetables across the table, being pressed against that wall and having Saruhiko bite down into his skin and leave marks.

He remembers all of that.

It’s all in the past now.

Saruhiko doesn’t follow him when he steps inside. There is a box on the living room table, like he was told there would be. It’s a big carton and he can see all his things inside.

There is another box on the coffee table in front of the TV, and this one catches his attention more.

Unopened, red and heart-shaped.

He stares at it.

Saruhiko walks in, and Misaki doesn’t look up. He doesn’t even mean to be heard when he says, “There wasn’t anyone, was there?”

It’s more to himself – a question more about why he’d be lied to and thrown aside when there was nobody to replace him to begin with. Is he that bad? Does he really have no place in the world?

Were his feelings all a joke?

 _No_ , says the voice in his head. _It was you. You threw him aside. You lied and you left the only place you had._

He looks up at Saruhiko anyway. His eyes burn. His heart is thudding so fast and so loud in his chest he thinks it might fall out for the world to see how many cracks there are in it.

“Tell me,” he says. “There isn’t anyone.”

Saruhiko looks at him. His eyes are unreadable, as always.

“There is,” he says, and Misaki clenches fists so hard he thinks he might draw blood. It doesn’t really matter, though. He can’t bring himself to care.

“You’re lying,” he says. “Tell me you’re fucking lying. Please.”

“What do you care?” Saruhiko snaps. “You broke up with me, remember?”

“It’s not like I _wanted_ to break up!” His voice is shaking now, his lip trembling and his eyes are watering, but he can’t look away from Saruhiko, not now, when they’ve finally come to this.

Saruhiko narrows his eyes. The expression sends chills down Misaki’s spine. “Then why did you?”

“It’s like,” he wipes his eyes with the back of his hands. It’s like I always try to help you but you never let me. You won’t tell me why you hate everything I like, or why you left, or why you’re…the way you are. You’re constantly pushing me away – there’s only so long I can spend thinking you’re just fucking being yourself.”

_How much more time do you need?_

“So,” Saruhiko says, coldly. “You broke up with me because, what, I wouldn’t _tell_ you things?”

“I broke up with you because if you don’t trust me enough to tell me anything, or at least let me know that you’re not ready yet, then it’s obvious we’re not getting anywhere with this relationship.” Misaki looks at the box again, thinks back to the time he’d received a similar one early morning last year, when he’d waited so desperately for nothing. “And maybe I was just insecure – if you don’t love me like I love you, what’s the point?”

_I’m waiting, but I can only do it for so long._

Saruhiko glares at him. “Don’t fuck with my feelings because you’re confused about yours.”

“I’m not confused about mine,” Misaki says. He isn’t. He never was. “I’ve told you a million times: I love you. I’m confused about _yours_. Do you love me back? I don’t fucking know, because you’ve never said it.”

“Didn’t you say you _know_ me?”

_Didn’t you say I don’t?_

Misaki swallows it back. He doesn’t want a fight right now. He doesn’t want anything more than to just reach out, hold Saruhiko’s face and bring him down to his level, kiss away the past three months to the morning Saruhiko had woke up to an empty bed, except this time instead of leaving, Misaki would make him breakfast, tell him he loves him no matter what, that he’d wait forever and ever if he had to.

He knows he can’t do that.

He’s not strong enough for forever.

“I only know as much as you let me,” he says. “And that’s not a lot.”

Saruhiko opens his mouth to say something but Misaki cuts him off, holding up a hand. “I’m an idiot, remember? You have to tell me clearly so I understand.”

There is silence. The clock ticks. Misaki waits.

Saruhiko watches him, blue piercing eyes like they can see right through his skin into his heart, see how much space he takes up in there. He sighs.

“There really is someone, you know,” he says.

Misaki stops breathing.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” There is a sheen to Saruhiko’s eyes now, and maybe his voice feels softer. Maybe the edge isn’t as sharp as it was five minutes ago. Misaki thinks back to a year ago. This is familiar. “There’s only ever been one person.”

Misaki blinks. He wants to laugh. Wants to cry. Wants to lie down on the floor and close his eyes. He’s so close – is the wait almost over, already? Say it now. Maybe if he thinks it hard enough Saruhiko will hear his thoughts.

He picks up the chocolate box on the table and holds it up. “I told you, say it clearly, so I understand.”

 _Three_.

“You’re an idiot.”

_Two._

“I know. That’s my point.”

_One._

Saruhiko reaches out, pulls him into a hug. The box falls somewhere to the floor, and there is only warmth in the words that are whispered into his ear like a secret.

Misaki shudders in Saruhiko’s hold and buries his face in his shoulder.

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on twitter @ ppprsnt and talk sarumis with me till we both perish.


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